


Most beautiful words

by chelouple28



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Car Accidents, M/M, Mentions of blood and injuries, Panic Attacks, i'm blaming my anon, mentions of throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:10:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelouple28/pseuds/chelouple28
Summary: He thinks he feels Eliott’s arm around his neck, and the last thing he hears before giving in to the dark is Eliott’s desperate and horrifying scream of his name over the sound of a truck honking.





	Most beautiful words

**Author's Note:**

> yes, hello, it's me again, and back with another prompt!  
> send me more prompts in [eluincorrectquotes](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/eluincorrectquotes)
> 
> i haven't written angst in forever, and I think this is the least I've had the characters talk in a fic, but I hope it's good either way.  
> Again, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!❤️  
> Much love <3

Bright laughter. Hands intertwined on top of the gear shift. An old rock song playing softly on the radio station.

The moon shines brightly over Eliott’s face, and Lucas turns in his seat to stare at him, drinking him in. The flutter of his eyelashes; bright, wild – and _so_ full of life - eyes fixed on the road; a big smile splitting his face in two – the one that never fails to leave him gasping for air, has been since the first time he saw him.

A soft ache settles in his chest, sweet and heavy, and Lucas has never been more in love – with the windows rolled down, the light summer breeze ruffling their hair and Eliott by his side, squeezing his hand every few minutes.

Eliott steals a glance at Lucas, giving him a soft smile that Lucas returns. He settles further into his seat, sighing in pure bliss with his eyes closed. He brings their joined hands up to his lips and kisses Eliott’s knuckles one by one, smiling into their pressed palms when he hears Eliott chuckling quietly.

He blinks once, eyelids heavy, and he hugs Eliott’s arm to his chest. Blinks twice.

Blinks.

He blinks again, and a white light blinds his eyes. He sits up, heart on his throat, as he hears the brakes make a screeching sound. Blood rushes to his ears and he feels himself go forward and then backwards, glass breaking into tiny pieces and slicing up his skin. He thinks he feels Eliott’s arm around his neck, and the last thing he hears before giving in to the dark is Eliott’s desperate and horrifying scream of his name over the sound of a truck honking.

***

Flashing red lights. Deafening siren sounds. A splitting headache. A throbbing pain on his right arm that makes it hard to breath.

Lucas blinks slowly, groaning as he comes back to consciousness. He opens his eyes, completely disoriented, and rolls his head to his left, eyes searching for Eliott’s. He registers two things at once: all the blood pooled on Eliott’s white shirt does not belong there, and Eliott’s arm is still in a death grip over his shoulders.

A wave of nausea washes over him, suffocating him as the car is filled with retching sounds.

That’s how the paramedics find him: trembling hands carefully caressing every inch of skin on Eliott’s body, face full of tears and snot; dry heaving between ugly sobs and weak pleads of _please, baby, please._

When they get him out of the car – get the both of them out -, he has to step to the side after seeing Eliott’s _limp_ , _unresponsive_ body being carried into a stretcher, throwing up again as a paramedic squeezes his shoulder in vain comfort.  

The ambulance ride to the hospital passes in a blur to Lucas. He absently feels his arm getting badged up the best they can in a moving vehicle – they say it’s _broken_. As if Lucas gives a single _fuck_ about that, all of his bones can fucking snap for all he cares. He can’t stop looking at Eliott’s beaten up body; so still and fragile, and he’s _so_ tall but right now he looks so _small_.

A loud beeping noise breaks the relatively silent room, ringing in Lucas' ears, and he shoots up from his chair, watches with wide eyes how Eliott’s chest arches up from the bed. He doesn’t take his eyes off him for a second, frozen on the seat across the ambulance, face flushed red and heart thumping against his chest.

He sees how Eliott’s back arches up at an inhuman angle after every electric shock, eyes tracing every little movement in an obsessive way. When the loud beeping goes back to a peaceful rhythm, Lucas reaches for the bin by his legs, coughing and spitting into it as he soaks up in the movement of a hand drawing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. It does nothing to ease up his worries, but the contact feels good.

***

 _The next 36 hours are crucial_ , the doctor said.

_Extreme blood loss._

_Lung obstruction._

_Almost lost him twice._

_We won’t know if there’s any brain damage until he wakes up. If he does wake up._

Lucas tuned out the doctor’s voice after the first minute, burying his face in Eliott’s mum chest as he trembled in her arms. He would never forget the pitiful look she had in her eyes as she delivered the news to the family. He wonders how many times she’s had to give this bullshit speech before.

When they got to the hospital Lucas couldn’t bring himself to call anyone – had to pass his unlocked phone to a nice nurse with shaking hands. He stood frozen against the wall, feeling the cold tiles on his back through his t-shirt, as the nurse contacted Eliott’s parents, her hand rubbing up and down his arm gently.

They’d wanted to keep him overnight, but Lucas more or less told them to fuck off. As if he wouldn’t camp out next to Eliott as soon as they put him in a room.

Lucas had never felt smaller then. A newly turned 18 year old kid with a ripped t-shirt and blood on his jeans and hands – some of it that wasn’t even _his_ \- , small cuts all over his face and arms, big terrified eyes, sitting all alone in a waiting room.

He was able to text Yann after Eliott’s parents turned up, Eliott’s mom's comforting words calming him down slightly.

**To: Yann**

_eliott is in the hospital please i need you_

_[send location]_

Yann had shown up less than 20 minutes later.

He has Eliott’s mom’s right arm over his shoulders and Yann’s left one brushing his hair. Eliott’s dad is sitting in a row of chair s opposite from theirs, holding his hand in a vice-like grip, and Lucas has never felt more grateful for the family he’s built for himself. They’ve been waiting for more news on Eliott’s condition for an hour now, and Lucas is starting to get restless.

His foot tapping against the floor for the umpteenth time and the doctor entering the waiting room intertwine in time. The four of them shoot up from their seats, clutching each other’s hands.

“He’s stable. You can go see him, now, if you want.”

And Lucas thinks those are the most beautiful words he’s ever heard.

He opens the door to Eliott’s hospital room slowly, trying to brace himself for what he might see. He stumbles into Yann when he finds his boyfriend laying on top of the sheets, skin mottled with black and blue bruises. There’s a very ugly looking bruise on one side of his face, and his mouth is covered by a breathing mask. He hears Eliott’s mom whimper from where he’s standing, and he moves blindly to hold her hand.

He sits on a chair next to the bed, tangles his fingers with Eliott’s carefully, and doesn’t move for the rest of the night. Not even to wash his hands – remains of blood stuck under his fingernails, that Lucas thinks is going to take a lot more to clean off than just soap – or when Eliott’s parents try to convince him to go into the bathroom and change into something more comfortable (courtesy of Yann, who’s the best friend he could ever ask for.).

He’s aware of the silent tears falling down his face with every blink; he can’t stop them, doesn’t even try to dry them, because he knows they will just start up again a moment later.

The only time he gets up from the chair is when they hit the 18 hours mark. Suddenly he can’t breathe, because their time is halfway up already, and Eliott doesn’t seem to have improved at _all_.

He might not wake up _at all_ if nothing happens in the next 36 hours, and they’re _already_ halfway up their time, and Lucas doesn’t know what will happen if he doesn’t wake up after all – can’t think about it, because then he’ll break, and maybe if he closes his eyes he’ll realize it’s all a cruel nightmare and he’ll be back with Eliott’s strong and warm arms curled around his waist as he breaths in small puffs of air against his neck.

That’s how Yann finds him, curled up under the bathroom sink and breathing erratically into his hands. Yann falls on his knees to the floor, hands instantly going to rub small circles on Lucas’ back.

“Lucas, hey. C’mon, breathe.” He pleads.  “You’re going to pass out if you keep breathing like this. Please. C’mon, breathe with me.”

“I- I can’t” Lucas pants, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, arms moving restlessly against the cold floor. “I- Yann. _Yann_. What if he doesn’t wake up? _Yann-_ ”

“Don’t talk like that, Lucas. He’s the strongest person I know. _C’mon_ , now keep breathing.”

“Death comes for everyone- _fuck_ , I can’t- I can’t lose him. I _can’t_. I love him, I love him, I love him. Oh my god-” Lucas lets out a high pitched whine, curling more into himself. “Yann- please. I can’t breathe- oh God, Yann. Help. I’m dying. _Please_ -”

“Hey, you’re fine. Listen to me, okay? You’re going to be fine, I promise, Lucas.” Yann whispers in a soothing voice, brushing his hand back and forth over Lucas’ back. “You can do it, keep breathing, c’mon.”

After what feels like an eternity to Lucas, he manages to calm down, sitting against the door. He lifts himself up from the floor and falls back against the chair again, taking Eliott’s hand in his and brushing a butterfly kiss against his forehead.

He lowers his head next to Eliott’s shoulder, shaking his head when Eliott’s parents come back into the room and ask him: “Anything new?” and “We brought some chocolate bars, do you want one?”

He closes his eyes, basking in the sound of Eliott’s chest rising up and down with every breath he takes, and falls sleep with a single prayer in his head.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

***

Lucas is messing around on his phone, left hand still clasped in Eliott’s and dark circles under his eyes, when his eyes fall on the time.

They’ve well passed the 24 hour mark. They’re down to 12 hours, and nothing has changed. He closes his eyes, breathing hard through his nose, and tries not to have another breakdown.

His throat feels dry and scratchy. He hasn’t stopped talking to him since he first sat down – not even when his friends or Eliott’s parents are in the room. He can’t stop. He tells him every little thing his mind comes up with, reminds him of every film that hasn’t been released yet but he’s so excited to go see, because, _Lucas, you’ll see, it’s a masterpiece_.

Tells him that as soon as they’re out of this shithole, he’s going to let him paint the whole fucking Mona Lisa on his back, promises he won’t complain even _once_ – because that’s something they do, when they’re lying in bed together. Eliott would sit on his thighs and tickle his skin with soft paint brushes and slow caresses, while Lucas complained that, _Eliott, I’ve been in this position for at least an hour_. But he never moves, because he knows how much Eliott loves painting on his bare back.

He promises him he will _never_ complain ever again if he wakes up. He promises he’ll eat all the food he decides to feed him, no questions asked. He just wants Eliott to _wake up._

He puts his phone down on the bed, moving his now free hand to tangle his fingers through Eliott’s hair.

“Hey, baby.” He whispers, afraid to break the silence in the room. “I miss you.”

He waits for a minute before laughing sadly.

“This is the first time you don’t react to me saying I miss you. I hate that” He keeps brushing his fingers through Eliott’s hair, caresses his face with the back of his hand. “I know you love your sleep, but God, Eliott- it’s been, what? A whole day? Are you making up for the weekend we just had? Is that it?”

He slowly traces his fingertips over Eliott’s crooked nose, his bottom lip – now set in a small pout, and Lucas misses his smile so much it hurts his chest. He brushes his fingers against his jaw, connecting the dots with loving touches.

“I mean, I didn’t hear you complaining about keeping you up all night? It’s not fair that I have to stay awake, is it?” He jokes a little, leaving another butterfly kiss on his nose. “C’mon, baby. I miss those bright eyes of yours so much.”

He presses his lips against his temple, lingering there for a moment, breathing in the smell of dirt and blood mixed with Eliott’s essence. So sweet and warm, so homey. Just Eliott. His eyes brim over with tears.

“Please, baby. You can’t do this now.” His voice cracks, tears spilling over his nose. “There’s so many things we haven’t done yet. I can’t lose you. I love you so much.” He cries. “You _need_ to wake up, because I can’t do this without you. I _don’t_ _know_ how to do this without you.”

He presses another kiss to his eyelids.

“ _And I don't want to_. _Please don’t make me learn how to._ ”

Another one to the cut on his left cheek. “I love you.” A careful brush of his lips over Eliott’s bruised side. “I love you.” A wet kiss, mixed with his tears, on the corner of his mouth. “I love you.”

He looks at Eliott’s unwavering and neutral face, trying to stop the whimper that escapes his lips, and moves to rest his head against his hip. He brings their hands up to his mouth, careful not to jostle Eliott too much or hurt him even more, trailing tiny kisses that go from his index fingers up to his elbow, over and over again, unaware of the small _Please_ that leaves his lips after every kiss.

“ _U…_ ”

Lucas freezes, lips parted less than one inch away from Eliott’s skin.

“U…as”

He lifts his head up slowly, almost convinced his sleep deprived brain is now making things up and afraid of the way he might react if Eliott’s face is still motionless.

The way Eliott’s fingers twitch against his palm gives him the rush of confidence he needs, and he turns his head to look at Eliott.

“ _Baby_.” Lucas whimpers, tears falling faster and more insistent than before, when he finds Eliott’s grey eyes – barely open and clouded in exhaustion – studying his every movement and a weak smile lighting up his fucking face – and Lucas swears he’s never seen a more beautiful face than Eliott’s right now; bruised and tired, but _alive_. _So alive_ \- under that plastic mask.

“ _Lu…cas.”_ Eliott says again before letting his eyes fall closed, his hand releasing his grip on Lucas’.

And Lucas grins then. With blotchy cheeks and wet with tears, eyes so red and irritated it hurts to blink, he moves his hand up to hit the red button next to Eliott’s head.

He lied. _That’s_ the fucking most beautiful word he’s ever heard.

 


End file.
